Heaven's Net Is Wide by Lian Hearn (good books to read for 12 year olds .TXT) 📕

brother needs to be kept occupied. I may be a farmer now, but Takeshi is a warrior’s son. He must have the education of a warrior before he comes of age. Then he can choose his own way.” Shigeru went on: “You seem to know all my activities. Do you have spies watching me all the time?”

“No, not at the moment,” Kenji replied. “I only hear what’s already spread on the wind. I keep my ears open, that’s all.” He sounded sincere, and Shigeru wanted to trust him, wanted to have this unusual and attractive man as his friend.

“What brings you to Hagi?” he said.

“I have relatives here. You probably know the brewery run by Muto Yuzuru.”

It was a little morsel of information, offered almost like a gift. Shigeru nodded. “Your family are involved in wine-making, then?”

“Runs in our veins instead of blood,” Kenji said. Shigeru poured him another cup, which he downed in one gulp. “I myself make soybean products-paste and sauce, in Yamagata. Most of our families are involved in one or the other.”

“And did you come to see me with any special purpose?”

“Not really. Just dropped in. I believe it is what friends do.” Kenji was grinning.

“It has not been within my experience so far,” Shigeru admitted. “I have been isolated from such everyday pleasures. Sometimes I feel like Shakyamuni before his enlightenment. He knew nothing of suffering or death, he had been shielded from them. But it was not until he lived in the world that his compassion was awakened.” He broke off and apologized. “Forgive me. I did not mean to compare myself in any way to the Enlightened One or to become so serious. One of the consolations of my new standing in life may be ordinary friendships like this. Though, of course, I am not suggesting that there is anything ordinary about you!”

“Just a humble merchant, as you are a farmer!” Kenji replied.

“Let’s drink to the friendship between them. The farmer and the merchant!”

They both emptied their cups and refilled them.

“What other news do you have?” Shigeru asked.

“You may be interested to hear that Arai Daiichi was forced to submit to Iida. He’s been dispatched to serve Noguchi in the new castle Iida’s building for him.”

“Did your niece go with him?”

“Shizuka? Yes, she’s living in the town. They had a child, you know?”

Shigeru shook his head.

“A boy. They called him Zenko.”

Shigeru emptied his cup, poured more wine, and drank to hide his emotion. She had betrayed him; she was rewarded with a son! “Will Arai acknowledge him as his heir?”

“I doubt it. Anyway, Shizuka’s children belong to the Tribe. Arai’s younger than you. He’ll marry and have legitimate children. He would have been married by now, but the Three Countries have been in chaos since Yaegahara. The Western allegiances are all up in the air. They won’t fight Iida, but they’ll make life difficult for him. He’s demanding concessions: the Shirakawa will probably have to give up their daughters as hostages; the Maruyama offended the Tohan by their refusal to attack the Otori from the West. Lady Maruyama’s husband died in the autumn, just after the birth of his son, and the son died recently. She’ll probably have to give up her daughter too.”

“Poor woman,” Shigeru said, after a moment’s silence. He was amazed and grateful to her for her staunchness.

“If she were a man, she would have paid for her defiance with her life, but since she’s a woman, Sadamu doesn’t really take her seriously. My prediction is he will marry either her or her daughter in order to claim the domain.”

“But he must already be married, at his age?”

“Yes, he is married, but there are many ways to get rid of a wife.”

Shigeru did not reply, reminded again sharply of the fragility of women and the weeks of mourning Moe.

“Forgive me,” Kenji said, his tone of voice changing. “I should not have spoken so, given your circumstances.”

“It is the reality of the world,” Shigeru said. “Iida is an expert in such marriage politics. I wish my father had been as skilled!” Surely Lady Maruyama will never marry Iida, he thought.

After Kenji had departed the following morning, Shigeru went to Ichiro’s room and took out a fresh scroll. It continued to rain, though not as heavily; the air smelled of mold, moist and humid.

Muto Yuzuru, he wrote. Brewer in Hagi.

Muto Kenji, the Fox, soybean-product manufacturer in Yamagata.

Muto Shizuka, his niece, concubine and spy.

Her son by Arai Daiichi, Zenko.

He looked at these sparse pieces of information for some time. Then he added: Kikuta woman (name unknown).

Her son by Otori Shigemori (name unknown).

He rolled the scroll inside one on crop rotation and hid it in the bottom of a chest.

39

The rains came to an end, and the heat of summer followed. Shigeru rose early and spent the days in the rice fields, watching the farmers protecting the crops from insects and birds. No one ever spoke of the society Kenji had mentioned-Loyalty to the Heron-yet he was aware of some deep understanding of his desire for anonymity. Beyond his own estate, he was never addressed by name. Outside Hagi, few knew him by sight, and if he was recognized, no one gave any indication of it.

Then the rice was harvested with sickles, the grain separated out with flails and sticks and dried on mats in the sun. Small children kept constant watch over it, setting up a cacophony with bells and gongs. In the vegetable fields, the water-powered deer-scarers beat out their erratic rhythm. The Festival of the Weaver Star was celebrated, and then the Festival of the Dead. Shigeru did not go to Terayama, as in the previous year, but instead attended the memorial at Daishoin, where so many of the Otori of his generation had their final resting place, and where Moe and his daughter were buried. Custom dictated that his uncles should also be present at this ceremony, and Shigeru greeted them with deference and humility, knowing that he